


Oasis Bloom

by chicago_ruth



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Obsession, Sex Pollen, rapist in love with victim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/pseuds/chicago_ruth
Summary: There are two flowers Zayid could use to help General Haider recover from his fever. One is harmless. The other is not.





	Oasis Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LeFeuNoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeFeuNoir/gifts).



> LeFeuNoir, you had so many wonderful prompts to choose from, and in the end I couldn't decide and ended up combining a few. I hope you enjoy!

Two days already.

Two days since they’d been attacked. Two days since they’d told Prince Jalal to go on ahead, while Zayid and General Haidar held the raiders off.

They were nothing more than thieves, drawn by the small procession of caravans across an otherwise desolate area.

Their procession was lucky. 

Lucky, that Zayid knew the desert well enough to recognize the tell-tale signs of horses approaching.

Lucky, that the thieves had been untrained, and hadn’t recognized the Prince and his royal guard for what they were.

Unlucky, that General Haidar had taken an arrow to the arm. The wound was angry and red, bleeding intermittently and at times oozing pus. 

“You should go on without me,” Haidar said again. He lay in the shade of a rock, looking far too pale even for him.

General Haider was, in Zayid’s opinion, the epitome of a man. He was a bit on the pale side, maybe, but it made him look like the royalty that spent their days in the coolness of shade. He had hair as dark as ebony with only a few strands of silver throughout his hair and beard, and his body wasn’t the soft one of royalty. Prince Jalal, at least twenty years younger than Haidar, wasn’t anywhere near as fit. And nobody had the same deep, penetrating green eyes. They were as sharp as an eagle's and as beautiful as any emerald.

Thanks to Haidar’s prowess, their kingdom had managed to take land up to the foot of the northern mountains. He also commanded the patrols that had kept the capital much safer than before, the many bandits and highwaymen convinced that they would be better off in other areas. Haidar was strict but fair, and he rewarded loyalty and hard work.

Zayid was, perhaps, a bit biased.

He knew it did no good to hold General Haidar in such high regard. Zayid himself was a common soldier, born of the desert and only through sheer luck able to escape its clutches. He had the rough skin of the common people, and he hadn’t been able to grow a full beard in all his years of life. He kept it shaved rather than allow anybody to see that.

“I won’t leave you, sir. I’ve already told you,” Zayid told Haidar. “Prince Jalal would have my head if I returned without you.”

“He wouldn’t,” Haidar promised, and he was probably right. What little Zayid had interacted with Jalal, he hadn’t gotten the impression that the Prince was cruel. He would mourn, and perhaps ensure that Zayid would never reach a higher rank, but beyond that Zayid thought that the Queen’s youngest son would not punish him.

Zayid looked at the horizon again, if only to avert his gaze from his general. In the shade, the heat was almost bearable. This scenario reminded Zayid of his youth, when he and Fatma snuck away from their families to play and laze. He’d been too young then to wonder about touching her, kissing her.

He was more than old enough to wonder about it now, with General Haidar so close, so vulnerable.

It was a dream, normally. When Zayid imagined it, late at night when he was alone, he usually created scenarios where General Haidar suddenly noticed that Zayid had been by his side for years. 

“Oh,” he would say, as if surprised, and he would reward Zayid’s loyalty with a kiss.

Sometimes Zayid went to the baths and found himself a large, bearded man and let them pound into him, imagining General Haidar. 

The real Haidar would never acknowledge Zayid. He was far too busy, and it hadn’t escaped Zayid’s notice that Haidar’s eyes lingered perhaps a bit too long on Prince Jalal’s form. It was enough to make Zayid despise the prince, but he knew that was an ugly thought, unworthy of a soldier under General Haidar's command. Besides, Prince Jalal was off to wed a lovely bride, so there was no risk from that end.

Zayid gave a bit more of his water to Haidar, and he worried at how low their reserves were getting. Prince Jalal had left a generous pack behind, and they’d pilfered water and food from the thieves, but it wouldn’t last forever. Zayid wished he could have kept the horses with them to help carry more supplies, but he couldn't spare the water for them, and so he let them fend for themselves in the desert. He had always preferred horses over camels, simply for their sleek beauty, but in this one instance he would have liked a camel instead. 

As night began to fall, Zayid shook Haidar awake.

"Come on. We need to move before it gets too dark," Zayid said. 

Haidar stood, but then he waved Zayid's hands away. "I'm fine. You... you lead the way. I'll follow." His voice was a bit breathy as he said it, and Zayid shivered, imagining a different set of words.

What kind of a man was he, to imagine Haidar in the throes of passion while the man himself was feverish and in pain?

Zayid took most of the supplies – Haidar insisted on carrying one of the packs himself – and they moved on.

They walked in silence, Zayid trying to orient himself with the setting sun and then the first stars in the sky. He kept an eye on Haidar, afraid he would collapse, but he showed an amazing resilience. Just another reason why he was the finest man Zayid had ever met.

"You... you're from here, aren't you?" Haidar asked suddenly. 

Zayid startled and stumbled over an uneven patch of rock. He hadn't thought that General Haidar knew him well enough to know of his background. "Y-yes. Well, no. Not here specifically. My family hailed from the desert in the south, near Helwan."

"Helwan—we took that city seventeen years ago."

"Yes."

They fell into silence again. Zayid wasn't sure what General Haidar must be thinking. Did he believe that Zayid was mad about the conquest? He wasn't. His family wasn't _of_ Helwan, they'd only traded with some of its people. For the most part they'd wandered the desert, finding water and grazing land for their goats. It had been a hard, terrible life.

The conquest had changed everything. Zayid’s family had traded with the Helwan soldiers, and when they’d been overtaken, the conquerors had punished all who had supported the original army. Zayid’s father had ended up as another corpse just outside the city.

His mother and brothers squabbled, and his grandmother had wanted them to move even farther south, to even longer trips without seeing civilization. Enough was enough. Zayid left them and joined the new conqueror's military. Anything had to be better than the pathetic, wandering lifestyle his family had.

It had been hard at first. Zayid spoke in a different accent and didn’t know all of the same phrases or shared references. The other soldiers made fun of his braids and his illiteracy.

None of that mattered. Zayid cut his hair and learned to speak properly. He painfully learned to read and write, and he fumed that his family had kept him in the desert for so many years. He trained hard and made himself known as a good soldier, and then three years ago he’d been assigned directly underneath General Haidar, the man who had inadvertently saved Zayid from a life of squalor and misery.

Another endless stretch of walking later, with General Haidar slowing more and more. They wouldn’t be able to keep walking much farther – the night would simply get too cold, and anyway Zayid was starting to flag himself. He was carrying the load of three men, and even with the headscarves he’d taken from the dead thieves, the sun and sand had taken its toll on him. Better than if they’d still been wearing their flimsy formal military hats though.

The next step he took, Zayid suddenly heard it. It was barely noticeable, but the atmosphere was different, and there was the faintest sound –

“We need to keep going,” Zayid said to Haidar.

“I can’t—no. I can. I will.” Haidar shook his head and adjusted the pack on his back, then winced at how his arm moved. “If I collapse, keep going without me.”

“Just a bit farther. There’s water nearby,” Zayid said.

He saw Haidar’s brows draw in and his lips purse briefly. “How do you know? This accursed desert looks all the same to me.”

Seventeen years of avoiding the desert and still Zayid knew the signs. You didn’t simply forget the slight shift in the wind, the smell of greenery. He noted the direction the wind came from and began walking that way. He looked backwards periodically to ensure that General Haidar was still with him.

Not fifteen minutes later, around a bend that looked extremely imposing, they found a lush paradise.

Well, relatively. It would never compare to the beauty of the capital, which was built along a river, but it was water and greenery in this wretched wasteland. Zayid almost cried in relief.

“Come on. Let’s drink water and then bundle in for the night,” he said to Haidar.

They had found the oasis none to soon. General Haidar wouldn’t have been able to keep walking much longer, and the bitter coldness of night was beginning to set in. Zayid made Haidar settle underneath a tree and dressed his wounds, then pulled the two blankets out of their packs and bundled in close to the general.

The second night now that he was allowed to sleep with his arms around General Haidar. It was necessary, after all, to keep warm. Tomorrow he would build a fire and figure out how to get to civilization. Tomorrow.

Tonight, he embraced General Haidar.

* * *

Zayid woke just before dawn and assessed the situation. The oasis provided needed coolness, though they’d be foolish to leave before General Haidar regained his strength. He was happy to note that the tree they were sleeping under was a date palm, ripe with fruit.

Haidar was still asleep, breathing heavily and overly warm. Zayid worried for him, and decided it was time to take a good look at that wound.

He tried not to wake Haidar as he removed the man’s shirt, but it was difficult, and the mild jostling had Haidar cursing in pain.

“I’m sorry, sir! I need to look at the wound.” Zayid waited until Haidar sat up and nodded his assent. With a slightly more gentle touch, he lifted the shirt away.

They both cringed at the blood-soaked bandages and the foul smell coming from it.

“I might lose the arm,” Haidar said mildly.

“You won’t!” Zayid yelled. “We can get it clean now. I’ll cut off the infected flesh if need be, but I know we can save you.”

General Haidar blinked at Zayid a few times, then smiled slowly. “Of course.”

He didn’t believe Zayid. No matter. Zayid would prove it to him. “Stay here, in the shade. I’ll take care of you.”

He picked up their water flasks and one of the blankets and jogged the short distance to the lake. First he filled the water flasks, then he ripped a few strips off the blanket. One he soaked, the rest he kept dry.

He thought he’d finished with his tasks, when he spotted two flowers near the water bank. 

The one was white, delicate. Its petals curled lightly into itself, and its center was blood red. Only a few of its kind were scattered around the rest of the oasis.

The other flower grew much stronger, in a bold pink color that attracted attention. It had strong, rounded petals that seemed to welcome any creature to come smell it.

This flower, Zayid saw now, was all over the oasis.

Both flowers were familiar to him from his life so many years ago. His grandfather had used their leaves and petals to treat wounds and fevers. The pink one had been preferred, and the white one would only be used if no other method was available.

Zayid still remembered the time his cousin had tricked him into eating the petals of the white flower. A shameful, burning memory.

His hands shook, and he plucked both flowers.

He wouldn’t use the white one, he told himself. But it was still pretty to look at. It would give General Haidar a bit of joy.

Zayid picked up all of the supplies and walked back to the general.

“I will clean the wound,” Zayid said. “Please, eat and drink while I do so.”

The general nodded and grit his teeth. He winced loudly through some of the pain, but he didn’t cry out. He truly was a great man.

He was, unfortunately, still a man, and the wound was turning black around the edges. Zayid cleaned as much as he could, then he crushed the petals of the pink flower into a paste and smeared it over top. “This should help a bit. My grandfather was a great healer, and he taught me some of his ways.”

Haidar nodded at Zayid. “The desert people are very resourceful.”

Resourceful, or stupid. Who wanted to stay in the harsh desert when they could live in a city instead? But Zayid didn’t say that, and simply fed Haidar dates and water, then covered him with the blanket when he drifted off again.

Zayid whiled away the time with washing himself and collecting dates for their packs. He managed to get a fire going too, and caught a few fish from the lake. Those he grilled and scarfed down. He’d catch more for Haidar when he woke.

When there was nothing left to do, he sat down next to Haidar and dozed a bit. It was getting near noon, and it was better to wait out the sun than try to do anything active. He clutched the white flower in his hand and tried not to think about what he could do with it.

General Haidar’s sobs woke Zayid.

“Please,” Haidar said, clutching his arm, “Just kill me. End me fast. I don’t… I don’t want to die to this rot.”

“No! You aren’t dying!” Zayid sat up and pushed down on Haidar’s shoulders, trying to calm his struggling. The bandage was still clean, but Haidar’s body felt much too hot.

Haidar slumped back and looked at Zayid. “Please. Please tell Jalal—“

Zayid’s heart stopped.

“—tell him that I love him, that I’m proud of him.” Haidar’s eyes filled with tears. “Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t be with him longer.”

And Zayid’s heart broke.

It was strange. He’d already known that General Haidar only had eyes for the prince. He’d known that his own affections would never be returned.

But it hurt. It hurt so much.

Zayid open the palm of his hand and found the crushed petals of the white flower.

With a shaky hand, he lifted it up to Haidar’s lips. “Here. Eat this. It will help with the fever.”

It would. That wasn’t a lie.

It would have been better to take a few moments to grab the pink flower. The pink flower was harmless.

The white one was not.

Zayid kept holding on to General Haidar as he obediently opened his mouth and began chewing on the petals.

“It’s sweet,” Haidar said with a laugh, which morphed into a hiss of pain. “Even if it does nothing, I’m glad to have this sweet nectar on my lips before I go.”

“You aren’t going to die. That’s the fever talking.” Zayid watched Haidar’s lips moving. He followed the line of Haidar’s throat as he swallowed. His eyes lingered on Haidar’s exposed skin, even paler here, without the slight hint of redness from the sun. His chest was covered in hair, a fine fuzz that Zaidar would love to run his hands through. 

He waited.

* * *

His grandfather called the white flower the temptress. He had warned them all not to eat its petals unless there was no other choice, for it could turn a person wild.

When Zayid was fourteen, his cousin had said their grandfather just didn’t want them to have fun, like when the parents smoked their pipes and refused to let the children participate. They were alone, so why not try some of the flower for themselves?

Zayid’s body had never burned so much. Thinking had become almost impossible. The caress of the wind was as strong as any lover’s hand. His prick had been so hard that he thought it would burst.

His cousin had laughed and left him alone to suffer.

* * *

“I feel—“ Haidar moaned, “I feel strange.”

His face had flushed red, all the way down to his chest, and he was sweating lightly. It could be the fever, Zayid thought, but he knew better.

“You’re fine,” Zayid said. “It’ll pass.”

Zayid watched with some fascination as Haidar’s pants began to tent, and he groaned when Haidar lowered his good hand to press against the burgeoning erection. Then he seemed to realize what he was doing and he snatched his hand away.

“What’s wrong with me?” Haidar struggled briefly, then his hand was back inside his pants, followed by another loud moan.

Zayid couldn’t help groaning himself. “It’s the fever. Just the fever.”

He watched for another moment, willing himself to hold still. This was a violation, yes, but as long as he didn’t touch—as long as he didn’t act on his desires—

Haidar pushed his pants down and exposed his cock.

Even here, Haidar was perfect. It was nice and thick and a respectable length. Maybe not the largest one that Zayid had ever seen, but that just made it better. Zayid wouldn’t need to choke himself to suck on it, and his hole wouldn’t need to stretch too wide to accommodate it.

He wouldn’t mind doing either for Haidar, of course.

Haidar let out a frustrated groan. “It’s not enough!”

It wouldn’t be. Zayid remembered how he’d been in tears with frustration, almost wishing his cousin would come back so he’d have _anybody_ to help him with his problem. Even a goat had seemed appealing.

“I’ll help you,” Zayid heard himself saying. He removed Haidar’s boots and pulled his pants down, while Haidar muttered “yes, please” and “no, stop.”

Haidar was so beautiful. Those strong, muscular thighs, lightly covered in hair, quivering with need. His cock so hard and already leaking at the tip. Zayid licked his lips and decided it would only be right to help his general along in this. He would have wanted the relief too.

Zayid pushed Haidar’s hands aside.

“What are you doing?” Haidar asked, his voice high with distress. 

“Helping you. You need me,” Zayid whispered. Then he leaned down and took Haidar’s cock into his mouth.

It was musky and lightly salty, and as ever, perfect. The weight of it on his tongue was heaven, and he groaned when he felt it twitch ever so lightly. Haidar pulled on Zayid’s scarf until it fell aside, and then his hand was tugging on Zayid’s hair, urging him onward.

“Stop. Stop,” Haidar commanded, but his legs splayed wider and his hand pushed Zayid’s head lower, so he clearly didn’t mean those words. 

Zayid felt the tip of Haidar’s cock bump the back of his throat, robbing him briefly of air. He pulled back quickly enough, but he felt his throat scratch and burn with the need for more.

Haidar’s cries got more and more incoherent, and a brief glance upward revealed Haidar’s eyes screwed tightly shut. Was he imagining somebody else? Was he imagining Jalal?

That wouldn’t do at all. Zayid sucked hard and then pulled back entirely. Haidar cried out. “No! Don’t stop!”

Zayid stuck his own fingers into his mouth and coated them with spit. “It won’t be enough to simply spend.” Maybe it would be. But it would take hours. Zayid had rubbed himself raw and it hadn’t been enough.

He grabbed one of Haidar’s legs and pulled it up for better access to his hole. When he’d imagined this, he’d always thought of himself on the receiving end. But there was no way that Haidar would be able to forget that it was Zayid here, not Jalal, if it was like this. Pretty, soft, weak Jalal would never be able to do this to Haidar.

He breached Haidar and groaned at the warmth on his fingers. It would feel amazing around his own cock, currently straining in his pants. 

Haidar sobbed loudly. “That’s—why does it—“

“Why does it feel good?” Zayid pushed further until he found that spot, and then General Haidar _howled_ and came. His seed trickled onto his stomach, but his cock didn’t abate.

It wouldn’t.

Zayid withdrew his fingers and spat onto his palm. He pulled his own cock out of its confines and coated it as well as he could, and he might have come himself, just listening to Haidar’s sobs and cries. No. He could do better.

He took hold of Haidar’s legs again, and lined up. “Look at me,” Zayid commanded. “I want you to see _me_.”

He pushed in.

Tight. It was so tight, but it was also so good, like nothing Zayid had ever experienced. Haidar was again saying something like “stop!” or “don’t!” but once Zayid started thrusting, those cries morphed into moans and sobs of pleasure. Soon it was only “more!” and “harder!”

“I love you,” Zayid said, bracing himself for another hard thrust. “I’ve always—you’re so—General, you are the reason I’m a soldier. You’re the reason I’m here.”

Haidar’s good hand went down to grip his own cock, and he tugged on it furiously. “I just need to—“

“I know what you need. I’ll give it to you.” Zayid thrust in, and then he bent forward to kiss Haidar.

Haidar didn’t even try to evade. Some part of him must have wanted Zayid too. He opened his mouth and welcomed Zayid’s tongue. His beard prickled on Zayid’s cheeks, and even that was more glorious than anything Zayid had ever experienced. He wanted this forever.

“Could your precious Jalal do this?” Zayid whispered into Haidar’s ears as he pulled back.

Haidar squeezed hard around Zayid’s cock, and that was enough. Zayid cried out and came, his seed shooting deep into Haidar, binding them together.

* * *

The flower’s effects wore off after another two orgasms for General Haidar. Zayid was happy to give them, even when he was exhausted and ready for sleep. This had to prove his devotion.

Even if it didn’t—

Even if it didn’t, Zayid would be satisfied to know that he had taken General Haidar. He, a commoner, had touched the general in ways nobody else had. It would be enough to fill his fantasies until his dying day.

He started when the general cleared his throat.

“I had a fever dream,” the general said. He stared straight at Zayid as he said it. “A fever dream, which was nonsense.”

It took a moment for Zayid to understand. General Haidar was willing to forget this all happened. Or if not forget, ignore it. 

He should be grateful. He knew what he’d done was—was not right. But he didn’t want it forgotten either. His skin prickled. “Sir—“

“A fever dream,” Haidar repeated, “which we will never address again.” He snarled at Zayid. “But I will tell you one thing.”

“Y-yes?”

“Seventeen years ago, when we took Helwan. That was my first great campaign. And do you know how the queen rewarded me?” He kept his eyes on Zayid, but his body wasn’t wary. He’d overcome the fever, and his arm was healing. He looked stronger than he had before.

“No, sir.”

“She gifted me with a son.” Haidar looked off at the distance. “She said that I had done her a great service, and in return, I would father a child for her. A son, who is now sixteen and to be wed to a princess and will someday become ruler of his own land.”

“But—“ Zayid’s body began trembling. Had he really misunderstood so badly? “I didn’t—I didn’t know—I—I didn’t mean to—“ 

Haidar stood, clutching his injured arm. “You will lead us to a city. And after that, if I ever see your face again, be assured that death is the most merciful punishment I could give you.”

Zayid swallowed hard and nodded. He would never see General Haidar again after this. He would never be able to bask in his glory ever again.

But a part of him was still glad. It had still been worth it.


End file.
